


Outtake from Life Will Find a Way: The impending circumstance of Steve Rogers

by JoCarthage



Series: Life Will Find Away + Extra Features and Outtakes [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PTSD written by someone without it, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’re you—“</p><p>“I just, I need this.” The Winter Soldier’s voice was thin, tightly wound as a garrote wire. His hands were hard on Bucky’s hips, and God help him, he leaned into them.</p><p>He tried to keep from responding, tried not to even take the hint of a lead. He put his hands on the Soldier’s where they pressed, flesh-warmed metal and battle-hardened palms against two palms, still as soft as they day they’d let him fall.</p><p>“You need to—"</p><p>  “I need to do nothing. That’s the entire point of this; I can have what I want.”</p><p>--<br/>PWP that wasn't the right tone for the bigger piece, but worked as a one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outtake from Life Will Find a Way: The impending circumstance of Steve Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> Steve's messed up in this fic, and less solicitous of Bucky's comfort than I've written before. He's downright selfish in the beginning. There are moments that might feel dubcon if someone has a sexual assault-related trigger, but are not dubcon since we're in Bucky's head the whole time and he's down. It's mostly that neither of them are their best selves in this fic. If you're looking for hot, slightly fucked up but in the end emotional and nice sex, that's what this is.

“What’re you—“

“I just, I need this.” The Winter Soldier’s voice was thin, tightly wound as a garrote wire. His hands were hard on Bucky’s hips, and God help him, he leaned into them.

He tried to keep from responding, tried not to even take the hint of a lead. He put his hands on the Soldier’s where they pressed, flesh-warmed metal and battle-hardened palms against two palms, still as soft as they day they’d let him fall.

“You need to—“  
  
“I _need_ to do _nothing_. That’s the entire point of this; I can have what I want.” He leaned in, slow as breathing, scraping his teeth down Bucky’s neck. Bucky could feel his veins jumping, adrenaline fluxing his panic and pleasure responses. Steve’s lips closed over his teeth and brought with them a softness. Bucky was strong but not that strong. He groaned and Steve dove closer, bringing their hips flush and tangling his thigh between Bucky’s.

“Do you, what do—“

Bucky’s breathing was erratic, uncontrolled in a way he never got any more. He knew his body too well to let it get that way during a fight or a workout, but here, it was like he was 19 again. No control.

Steve’s hand was crawling up his back, fingers hard on the knobs of his bone, and Bucky just couldn’t.

He pushed Steve away. He saw a flicker of bone-deep rejection, hate and hurt and terrible coldness all mixed as Steve backed up, covering his bare chest with his arms, face closed, body turning away.

He was moving towards the door when Bucky reached out putting his flesh hand between Steve’s shoulders, pressing in.

The other man stopped, but didn’t turn.

Bucky whispered, voice catching, breath still away from him: 

“God, do you know what—”

He tried to force words through the grey and red of his mind.

“Do you know how much I want this? Want,” and he dug his fingers in, dug in so Steve could feel it. He hunched forward, curving himself into Bucky’s palm. But he didn’t turn to face him.

“I, can’t be, we have’t in,” he pivoted, walking around Rogers, gripping his face and pulling him into his initiated first kiss of that century.

Steve’s face was stone under his fingers, clearly unengaged. Bucky gave it a three count, and was pulling away, excuses filling his mouth, when Steve made the smallest, most broken noise Bucky had heard from him outside the the interrogation room. His hand lifted, tracing the outside of Bucky’s hair, just touching the air around him, trying to draw him closer without exercising force. He leaned in and pressed his lips to the other man’s again, this time letting his own lips relax, letting the shape of Steve’s face curve his own. He took a breath, and had to clench his stomach, the smell so rich and full of home.

He reached over to grip Steve’s palm where it still hovered, not touching him, to bring it over to his mouth. Slow, eyes never leaving Steve’s, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his palm. Metal fingers as gentle as he knew how, he looked down at the hands in his and held the fingers apart, kissing them and where they met his palm, keeping his tongue back.

Steve’s breathing was sharp when he curved himself over Bucky’s form, bare feet touching. Bucky kept kissing, working his way to the back of Steve’s hand, to the back of his wrist, around to the tender front of it. He pressed in on Steve’s pulse point and, there, felt Steve’s head dip, felt a soft kiss to the crown of his head. 

Bucky pressed Steve’s hand to his own heart, pressed the fingers into his skin. “This is yours, whether you want it or not. It just is.”

Steve nodded and leaned in for another kiss, dipping his tongue into Bucky’s mouth and bringing back a gut-punched sound. Bucky shoved an arm behind Steve’s back and swayed his hips closer. He felt a nasty grin forming on Steve’s mouth and licked it away.

“What are you smiling at?” He whispered, before deciding talking was over-rated and leaning back up to kiss.

“You,” said Steve. Bucky pulled back, hand pulling his hair back from his forehead. He kept his hand up, and jerkily moved it forward to brush the side of Steve’s face. Steve’s expression fell into an exhausted, relaxed shape, softer even than he was in sleep. Bucky drank it in, and was turning his palm to touch Steve’s skin with his more sensitive skin, when Steve peaked his eyes open and canted his hips forwards.

Bucky gulped and Steve’s small smile unfolded into a smirk.

“You,” he said, taking a step, forcing Bucky to take a step backwards too. Towards the bed. “Doing your best to be good,” Another half-step, Bucky’s hands getting tighter behind his back. Steve ducked his head down, ensuring his lips touched Bucky’s ear when he said: “Trying to keep me safe.”

Bucky nodded and took another step back, before Steve moved forward. Steve moved back to kiss Bucky’s mouth. When he pulled away, his grin was bright as a floodlight.

Bucky’s shins hit the frame of the bed and he anchored himself, legs wide, the most balanced stance he could manage under the impending circumstance of Steve Rogers. Steve paused his slow march forwards, and pressed his forehead to Bucky’s, voice soft and harsh for a moment:   
  
“You want this, want what we used to have so much, but are willing to settle for what we have now, or nothing, or something entirely different. Why is that, Buck?”

Bucky closed his eyes. Words could not fail him, they had to come out in the right order, had to get this through. This might be a tipping point.

“Because I love you.” He let the words fall, richotetting off the hardwood floor of their bedroom, speeding into their living room, tinging off their china and flatwear, their old TV set and Steve’s carefully-selected record-player. They came back, fuller than they’d left, and wrapped around them like a third set of anchoring arms.

Steve bowed his head one more time and then dove into a deep kiss, knee between Bucky’s thighs. It was either lay, or fall, and Bucky wasn’t ever going to push back against Steve; he had no barriers to protect himself with. As he lay back, he hoped there was enough of Steve left to protect them both, keep him from getting shredded up inside.

Once he had him down, Steve crawled between his knees, arms posted to either side of his head, kissing slow and insistent. Bucky kissed back, arching himself towards his golden friend. He noticed Steve wasn’t touching his body much, so kept his hands moving in small, repetitive patterns over the skin of his back. He gripped the base of his neck and Steve let out a surprised gasp. Bucky chuckled into his mouth and said:

“That one’s been there a long time.”

Steve pulled back, and Bucky followed, only to open his eyes to see Steve’s confusion.

“I don’t remember yours, I don’t remember…”

“Hey,” Bucky said, raising his nearest hand—the metal one. Bucky rolled up to sitting, pulling his shirt off from his nape, backing Steve up as he went. He moved his legs so they bracketed Steve’s hips as he sat back on his haunches. He brought Steve’s hand to the base of his neck, running it up the side. “One,” he said.

Steve added a bit a pressure, letting the sides of his fingers, softer than their pads, touch Bucky’s skin. His face was slowly cracking open again. Bucky’s eyes closed with pleasure, but he forced them open again.

“Two,” Bucky said, moving Steve’s palm to his arm, just where he smaller hand had fit around his young bicep. Steve curled his hand around, and it fit differently, but not worse, than it ever had.

“Three,” Bucky said, pulling Steve’s hand to his waist over his shirt. Steve took a moment, looking into Bucky’s face, then hitched the shirt up, giving him space and laying his hand on Bucky’s bare skin. Bucky’s face slackened, eye deepening and breath whistling through his throat. Steve moved his hand up Bucky’s side to his ribs, first fitting his fingers over the bones, then between their grooves, then over the bones again.

“We might need to feed you up,” he said, and Bucky rushed forward to kiss him. For a moment, he’d heard the old Steve, the one he’d grown up with, the one he’d left for war, the one he’d first dreamed of touching. The man who’d made up for their difference in productivity by handling their domestic side, the cooking, the rent coordination, the relationships with neighbors, the cleaning, the logistics of a small space. He’d missed that in his old tiny, bare apartment. He’d missed tiny hints someone loved him, around him at all times.

He guided Steve by the wrist to laying his hand down on his black-shirt-covered stomach. Bucky started to be able to feel his pulse against Steve’s hand, when Steve lifted his hand up and away, Bucky opened his eyes to watch as he dipped his hand down, brushing the waist of his pants.

“Can I?” Steve asked, voice dark.

“Yes,” Bucky whispered into his mouth. He watched as Steve unbuttoned his pants, peeling them away from his body. Steve slid his hands behind Bucky, and Bucky laid back, letting them skim his briefs and pants off his hips and down his legs. Steve looked about to help him take off his shoes when Bucky laughed and pushed at his side, undoing them and scraping off his socks much faster as Steve moved to the side, hands trailing down the bare length of skin that was the side of Bucky’s body.

Socks off, Bucky laid back, feeling a rising warmth of embarrassment working its way up his body. He put his hand on Steve’s arm, but was going to avoid asking him to undress, let him set the boundaries.

Steve graced a hand down his chest, letting it come to rest over his navel.

“I want this,” Steve said, “I want you.” Bucky let that thrill through him for a moment, but tried to focus on the words that came next. “I don’t know all of who I am or what I am, but I want you in my bed and at breakfast and out to lunch and I want you as near me as you’ve been for these months as I’ve found my way back to you and I want you closer than we’ve been since you fell. I want this for you, for me, and for us.” And then Steve looked at him, questioning, as Bucky tried to wrap his head around that.

“I don’t think it’s a secret that I want you too. I’ve loved you since we were kids, and as more than a brother since I knew what that meant. And if you only wanted to be brothers again, I would be so happy for that. And if you want more, something more than what we’ve had, I’m not going to say no.” Steve’s face was still tense, and Bucky tried to be clearer. “I’m saying yes, you jerk, yes,”

And Steve dove down to kiss him, clambering over his leg to lay, heavy and clothed between his legs. Bucky bucked into the pressure of him, the warm breadth of his skin, taking a deep breath on the side of his neck.

Steve kissed back, fingers tightening on his ribs, coming around to the front of his body, hovering over his pec, light on the dusting of hair around the center of his chest. He leaned forward, leaned into the touch, and Steve slipped his hand over, thumb just brushing his nipple. Bucky’s hips jerked. Steve grinned into his mouth and whispered “Four.”

Bucky shoved his hand into Steve’s hair, angling his mouth for a deeper kiss. Steve groaned, other hand coming around to press to Bucky’s back, filling him with the feeling of being surrounded, of being kept in his shape by the shape of someone he loved.

Steve moved his hand away but Bucky groaned, taking a hold of Steve’s hand. Fingers over his fingers, palm over the back of his hand, he showed him how to press, how to stroke, losing touch with the existence of the world outside of this room, these hands. His usual, totally clear perception of his location, his time, the infrastructure at his disposal and the people and threats around him faded. He was left with only this man, this other person whose hands encased his body, who wrung these sounds and these waves of feeling out of his over-tight skin. He moved his hand down to Steve’s back, gripping and feeling the strength and length of it, feeling how he moved.

Bucky kept it above the waist. He could do this one thing, hold himself back from this one precipice even after he’d fallen headfirst into other, much deeper ones, starting when he’d kissed Steve. He could force himself to let this be Steve’s choice, Steve’s push.

Steve didn’t reach down quickly for Bucky’s cock, though Bucky was totally exposed. He traced the skin around it, brushing it with the side of his hand but never reaching out, never gripping. Kept going over his skin in lines and curves, like he was making an accurate topographic map of his intimate surfaces. Bucky sank into the feeling, thrown into the slow cooker of this kind of attention rather than the open fire of his first touches. Steve was inching further down his body, watching his fingers over Bucky’s skin.

He flicked his eyes to Bucky’s face, then lowered his mouth, licking a wet stripe just under his pec. Bucky laughed, surprised at the touch, but when Steve did it again, pressing in harder, hands framing the skin he was tasting, Bucky’s laugh changed to a gasp, closer to a moan. Steve pulled his tongue in and grinned, sweet and nasty all at the same time. Steve started working his way, closer and closer to Bucky’s nipple. Bucky pressed his hips into the mattress, trying to keep control. Steve moved over, straddling Bucky’s leg to give himself leverage and access. He pressed his palm onto Bucky’s elbow, and settled his weight on his hip. He wasn’t pinning him, this wasn’t a hold anyone had ever taught in combat school, but Bucky would have been damned before stirring from where Steve Rogers put him.

Steve worked his way to the other pec, but for a moment Bucky couldn’t track his mouth because his hand was moving towards his thigh. He moved a hand down to Steve’s face, running his fingers over his dimples and feeling how his mouth was moving, all as he tried to hold in a gasp from the feeling of Steve’s hand on his thigh.

But Steve still didn’t push, just giving Bucky light touches, none of the pressure or precision he needed as Bucky twitched under him. He clenched his stomach muscles, curled his toes, squeezed his ass cheeks, whatever he could do to distract himself and not fuck up into Steve’s hand like a fucking teenager. He was so close to breaking but he wasn’t going to let it happen. Steve could make a move, or not; Bucky wasn’t going to be the one to move.

And then he did it. He wrapped his callused palm around Bucky’s straining cock and Bucky thrust into the sensation, pulling himself back from the brink with a force of will he couldn’t duplicate.

“Hold on for me, Buck, I want us both to, together,”

Bucky’s eyes flew open and he batted Steve’s hands away for a second, and putting his hands over is eyes, unable to handle the sensation and the mental image all at the same time. He tossed his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, only to let them open again when Steve made a sound of appreciation.

Steve sat up, kneeling between Bucky’s spread thighs.

“Just look at you,” he said, a possessive cast to his face Bucky hadn’t seen in decades. “Ready and writhing,” Bucky nodded, completely dry of shame, eyes wide. 

Steve grinned and reached towards the button of his own pants, and Bucky watched as he revealed himself. It was the same body he’d last seen at a lodge in the Alps, though Steve held himself in a different way now. Freed of pants, Steve looked down at Bucky again and Bucky leaned up and caught the back of Steve’s head, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth, then below it, as Steve sought his lips. 

He evaded him, kissing and pressing the shape of his mouth to his jaw, over his eyebrow, until he held still, let Bucky demonstrate affection at his own pace. When Steve’s breathing began to pick back up again, his shoulders rolling in towards Bucky, his mouth opening for the inevitable kiss, he gave him, just diving into the kiss. 

Their bodies came together, Steve sliding his erect cock up to and beside Bucky’s down. He held himself there, body tight, mouths tight and wet against each other. Bucky writhed against him and they fell into a furious rhythm, Bucky working a hand between them to cup and caress and guide them. It was moments and forever and then he felt Steve thrust quicker, then freeze and begin a rolling dance on top of him. The look of slack jawed pleasure on his face warmed Bucky and threw him over the edge, white lights and colors bursting at the side of his vision.

Their bodies came down as their minds did, finding slickness between them and dripped from Bucky’s stomach onto the sheets. Steve chuckled and reached over the side of the bed, grabbing Bucky’s pants to an outraged huff. He cleaned them up, and then lay back on Bucky, head in the curve below his clavicle that had always been his.

Bucky adjusted his hips, keeping sensitive skin from getting over stimulated, and then began roving his hands over Steve’s back. A few minutes of this, and Steve turned his head to face Bucky’s skin, and began sucking a mark. Bucky looked down at him, and Steve said, “Can I—“

Bucky nodded, eyes wide, and then let himself relax back, letting the attention and slight pain of the suction take everything else away from his world. Steve pressed back in, kissing strong and sure.

He formed one bruise and examined it, grinning the hiss of breath Bucky let out seeing his mark. He was working his way down to form another one when he felt a forearm against his collarbone. He was being pressed back and down, and he went, lust-blind eyes opening to the reality of Steve’s body leaning over his, his mouth moving to his own. Bucky opened, knees coming up and bracketing Steve against the top of his body. Then he relaxed, letting his legs lie flat and slightly apart. Steve took advantage of the position and resettled his weight between them. He looked up at Bucky, checking for a reaction, checking for permission.

Bucky watched him and focused on keeping from bucking or grinding against the pressure. Then Steve leaned over him, and began to press a firm mouth against the flat, thin skin just under his collarbone.

Steve moved on to a second love mark, then a third. In the middle of that one, he relaxed his body on Bucky’s and Bucky—he pressed up. He pressed into the tight pressure on his skin, enjoying the shape and size of the commitment it demonstrated.

Steve came up for air for a moment and Bucky pulled himself down and pulled Steve up, bringing their mouths together. “I’m yours,” he said, to a quick answer of “I’m yours.” 

They kept kissing, sweet and slow, and Bucky could taste the warmth of home in Steve’s mouth.


End file.
